


These Small Moments

by blackm00n5



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Cute Kids, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, One Word Prompts, PTSD, Romance, Transgender, mixed ratings, these nerds, transphobia warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-20 05:53:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 17,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2417402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackm00n5/pseuds/blackm00n5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prison

**Author's Note:**

> So I figure in the notes, I'll write the word prompt, the pairing and the rating. I will put any warnings about the fic up here, so take caution to read it before going into each story. I'd hate to know something I wrote triggered someone.
> 
> Prompt 1: Prison  
> Pairing: Grif/Simmons  
> Rating: T and up  
> Warnings: none

That god damn box canyon was a prison. There was no way around the fact. Dexter Grif had been locked away there for years, drafted into a war he hadn't wanted a fucking thing to do with. And yet, here he was. Stuck inside those damn walls. Stuck underneath a never setting sun, drowning in the absolute isolation of his cage. It was impossible to breathe easy, impossible to actually live when the only thing to live for was those canyon walls and an insane Sergeant.

But even through the hell, despite being locked up like he'd perpetrated a crime, there was something small. Something strong to lean on when the little jail cell was crushing Grif into nothing.  And he hadn't even realized it, at first. Hell, he'd hated everything here for the longest time, despising everything that came with his prison.

Simmons was the exception, now.

Simmons was the sturdy, warm weight Dex could grasp at to remind himself that there's more to life than being locked away in this canyon. He was the thin but sinewy body that the orange spartan could cling to at night, holding close and pretending they were somewhere else. Holding at each other and kissing and fucking, cuddling and fighting like their lives depended on it. Simmons was that soft, soothing voice that calmed him out of his nightmares, pulled him from his worst places and he was that harsh, smart retort that snapped at Grif like a snake and grounded him to reality. There was a sharpness to their relationship that kept it from wearing down, a brightness that only flared the more that box canyon seemed to close in on them. 

It was no different for the maroon soldier. His life was a prison, crushed under the desperate need to be good enough. Locked in until he made himself worthwhile but never quite reaching that goal. He had initially thought the war was his parole, that he'd finally be out of the cramped jail he lived in. But he only forced himself to try harder, worked himself raw and still didn't find it in himself to believe he'd done well. 

Then Grif showed up. Grif, with his sarcastic remarks and laid back attitude. Grif, who talked to Simmons like an equal, teased him like a friend and kissed him like a lover. One person in the entire prison of a life he had that made him feel free, that allowed him to relax. It didn't matter if he did well enough for anyone else because Grif praised him like a genius and criticized him like a brat. He was the firm hold onto reality that Simmons needed and the burst of insanity that he couldn't live without. 

Their prison was eternal. They knew that. They'd be stuck there until the day they died, and likely for generations beyond that. And even with that fact, knowing their sentence in this horrible jail, neither could find it in them to complain.


	2. Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker is a voyeur. And for the first time, he's a little ashamed of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Kiss  
> Pairings: Church/Washington, Grif/Simmons  
> Rating: T and up or kind of mature? Vague sexual references but nothing explicit.

Private Tucker had never been ashamed of his sexual interests. He liked girls, boys, and anything in between. And he liked to watch them. By themselves, with others, it didn't matter. Tucker was a simple man to please, and a part of him was relatively proud of that fact.

Taking the sniper rifle up to the canyon wall was a favorite past time of his. Sitting up there, just scoping out the area. And catching Grif and Simmons out on patrol? It was perfect.

Their moments together were easy for Tucker to get off to, easy for him just sit back and enjoy. They went at each other like starving men, teeth and tongue crashing together in a wonderfully painful way. He loved to watch that one mechanical hand tangle up in black hair, tugging just barely when Grif decided to bite down on his lip. Hands shoved armor half off and gripped too tightly at whatever skin they could reach. Both men rutting against each other, holding on like it was their last chance. Grif would tug Simmons' head back by his hair and Simmons would pin the shorter man to the ground. If they were close enough, Tucker could sometimes even see the way Simmons' freckles brightened as his skin flushed. It was desperate and harsh, but undeniably passionate. Emotion burning wild through them in their moments together.

But this...this was different.

Tucker had never even thought to watch his own team. The possibility of any of them being with one another simply hadn't occurred to him. The very thought of it was ludicrous, an insane notion that Tucker would never have entertained. 

And yet, here he was. Watching sweet, gentle kisses shared between Church and Washington. A perfect view right into the little alcove just under the base, the men pressed up against each other as if they hadn't seen each other for months. Warm smiles passed between them, noses nudging and foreheads pressed together. There was nothing rushed about this, nothing desperate or needy. Just the two of them, melting into each other like they had all the time in the world. Tucker could see their lips moving, no doubt murmuring out sweet nothings. Promises neither knew if they could keep, but they'd be damned if they didn't try. Something about watching this felt dirtier than watching Grif and Simmons, something that made Tucker feel guilty, as if he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. There was something so intimate about it, invading on a private moment, and Tucker nearly dropped the sniper rifle in his haste to look away. 

Mildly confused, Tucker slumped back against the canyon wall, staring straight ahead at nothing. 


	3. Disappointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons wasn't sure if he was more disappointed in himself, or in Grif.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Disappointment  
> Pairing: Grif/Simmons  
> Rating: T and up

It had been a blur. A rush of fervent hands and hot mouths. Simmons had found himself pinned to the cold wall in his bedroom before his brain could catch up, and suddenly he was breathing in Grif, surrounded by the shorter but stronger man. Lips everywhere; kissing, licking, biting whatever they could reach. Desperate hands left scorching trails over his skin, guiding him and moving him. Too soft and too rough, leaving bruises and scratch marks in their wake. 

They went for hours. Just hours of touching and teasing and fucking and Simmons would go so far as to say making love. Long kisses that stripped them both of their breath and hot, desperate kisses that were breathless to begin with. Naked skin exposed to the cool air, burning up from the intensity. Loud groans and grunts, soft whimpers and keens. Hands tugging at hair, bodies rocking together like they were made to. Maybe they were. Maybe they were there for each other, they'd been created for no reason other than to complete one another. The thought had sent a shiver up Simmons' spine and he'd went over the edge once again at the thought.

Simmons could still feel those surprisingly soft lips against his own, feel teeth biting into his skin just enough to hurt. He could swear he still hand those firm hands on his hips and sturdy body between his legs. He could still hear Grif's voice murmuring filth into his ear and see those deep green eyes boring into his own, so darkened with lust that they were more gray then green. 

And Simmons was so disappointed that he hadn't said "I love you'.

But not as disappointed as he was to wake up the next morning to find Grif gone.


	4. Kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were convinced Sarge was going to kill them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Kill  
> Ship: Grif and Simmons  
> Rating: T and up  
> Warnings: None I don't think.

The first time they kissed, neither had planned it.

It had been sudden, no thought involved as their lips brushed together. A dark room, silent in the most painful of ways, and the two of them pressing against one another and unable to focus on anything else. Nothing but the feel of lips on lips, skin on skin. Warmth on warmth.

And they were both certain Sarge would kill them if he found out.

That one kiss sparked a fire neither Grif nor Simmons knew possible. They found themselves rutting against one another whenever they could steal a few moments. Armor hitting the ground and desperate hands grabbing hastily at the skin presented. Fast and rough, a haze of want and need and spit and cum. Bruises and scratches littered their bodies, dull aches that they'd feel for days leaving them with a sated pleasure. A high unfamiliar to them but adored nonetheless.

And they were both certain Sarge would kill them if he found out.

Slowly, agonizingly slow, that desperate inferno melted into a comforting warmth. Suddenly they were sharing secret smiles during the day, brushing their hands together when they walked just a bit too close to one another. There was more patrols they took together, more secret conversations and little laughs shared. They leaned on each other, needed each other like they had never needed anything else in their life. 

And they were both certain Sarge would kill them if he found out.

The first time Grif and Simmons made love, it was perfect in how terrible it was.

Grif had knocked over the single candle Simmons managed to find, burning himself on the hot wax. There were bruises that came from elbows and knees instead of mouths and fingers, both a little unsure. They were used to fucking, used to using each other for the pure pleasure as opposed to making love. The room was too bright, and Donut could be heard arguing with Sarge in the next room. They had to be quiet, needed to keep their desperate groans of pleasure to themselves. Simmons stuttered through saying 'I love you' and Grif hadn't even said it back, instead grunting into the taller man's neck as he came. 

And they were bother certain Sarge would kill them if he found out.

When Sarge _did_ find out, Grif and Simmons had tried desperately to explain themselves. Though, there wasn't much to explain when they were spooning naked in bed. They couldn't talk their way out of it, and they were just waiting for the bullet to hit between their eyes. But, Sarge found that he didn't actually _want_ to kill them.

But, that almost made them both die of heart attacks, anyway.


	5. Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonard Church was just five years old, and Allison was new to class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Smile  
> Pairings: Church/TeX  
> Rating: G  
> No warnings!

Leonard Church was just five years old when he first met Allison.

He was sitting at the large round table near the back of the brightly colored classroom, near the windows where he could watch the flocks of birds pecking at the ground. Lavernius sat across from him, coloring in his bug coloring book with the crayons he'd managed to charm off of a first grade girl. Michael Caboose sat beside Church, deep in discussion with his stuffed robot. Leonard had learned early on the the robot was named freckles, and Michael took great offense if you insulted the plushie.

Ms. Sheila guided a little girl to the front of the room, introducing her to the class. She seated her on Leonard's other side, making her the only girl at the table.

Leonard stared, pale blue eyes trailing over the girl's face. Examining everything from her red braid to the freckles on her shoulder to those deep green eyes. His head tilted, curiosity bubbling in his stomach. That little scowl seemed to be etched into her features, her pale hand gripping the black crayon too tightly. She let out a frustrated grunt when the crayon snapped in half under her hold, though Leonard wasn't sure why she would be surprised by it breaking.

Those ubsurdly green eyes caught sight of Leonard when Allison looked up and reached for another crayon. She huffed, crossed her arms as she turned to glare at the boy.

"What are you lookin' at!, huh?" She demanded, and Leonard's eyes widened in a mild panic. He blinked, a small flush lighting up the tips of his ears, and he stayed silent a moment.

"You're really pretty." Leonard blurted out, eyes still wide.

Allison's own eyes widened, the tension in her shoulders dissipating as the shock seemed to take over. Her mouth fell open just a bit, leaving the girl gaping at Leonard as she tried to process what he'd just said. After a moment, she closed her mouth and her face softened. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of her lips and a barely there blush tinted the apples of her cheeks. She mumbled out something that may have been a thank you, then shoved at Leonard's shoulder and grabbed for the crayons at the center of the table.

Leonard very nearly fell out of his chair from the shove, but he decided that tiny smile was definitely worth it.


	6. Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "why? You've got to be smoking over two packs a day, its going to kill you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Death  
> Pairings: A little Grif/Simmons  
> Rating: T and up  
> WARNING, SUICIDAL REFERENCES

Simmons gave an obviously annoyed grunt, slamming his wrench down a little too harshly. He glared at the half smoked cigarette hanging from Grif's lips, the smoke billowing around the man's head. Grif just raised a dark eyebrow.

"What's your problem?" He asked around the cigarette.

"Your god damn chain smoking! I don't want you ruining my lungs, too!" Simmons snapped, throwing out the tired excuse and giving another glare. And he'd deny to the death the underlying edge of concern. When Grif's gaze left Simmons' face, the maroon spartan allowed his own eyes to soften.

"Why? You've got to be smoking over two packs a day, its going to kill you." The worry was impossible to deny this time, tone just this side of the line between asking and begging.

It fell silent after that, Grif taking long, slow drags of his cigarette. The silence was heavy, weighing Simmons down in a way he hasn't expected. Grif refused to meet Simmons' gaze, staring off at nothing instead. Finally, he crushed the cigarette out under his foot and walked past Simmons. He stopped just a few feet away from the other soldier, not once looking at him.

"Maybe that's what I want." He answered, a darkness in his voice that Simmons wasn't used to, and his chest tightened as Grif kept walking.


	7. Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They all know York is in there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Know  
> Pairings: North/York  
> Rating: M  
> Warnings: sexually explicit

The door to North's bunk was locked tight. The room was small, just big enough for a single bed and a small dresser, just like everyone else's bunk. The air was stale, filtered oxygen pumping through the vents to allow them all to breathe. The single lightbulb flickered every so often, too bright for the tiny room, and hung down too low into the room.

The bleak, boring walls of the room didn't matter, though. Not when York was there, under North as the blond rode him hard and fast. Hands tangled up in brown hair to tug York's head back, making it easier to kiss him. Their lips pressed harshly together, teeth and tongue roughly pushing into each other and their mouths caught each other's moans. North wrapped an arm around York's shoulders, throwing his head back with a gasp as his prostate was slammed into head on. His back bowed, chest pressing into York's, and he bit into his bottom lip to stifle the sound.

The sudden, loud knock to the locked door caused both soldiers to freeze. North tightened his hold on York as the brunet buried his face in his shoulder. Clamping his eyes shut, North took a deep breath to try and gain control of his voice, having to try twice before he could get a sound out.

"Yeah? What is it?" He called, surprising himself with how calm his voice was.

"What the hell, North, we've got training in ten minutes, you're always there way too early." South's voice cut through into the room, muffled by the door.

York shifted under North, and the blond man bit into the meat of his own arm to keep from groaning at loud. York murmured into his shoulder, breath hot against the skin, and gripped too hard at North's hips.

"Yeah, I know. Sorry, I decided to take a nap, ended up passing out for longer than I planned." North answered, head thrown back once more as York rolled his hips purposefully. It was silent for a long moment, and North figured South had left. He slowly began rocking his hips again, locking lips onto York's again.

"Bro, we all know York is in there and we all know what you're doing, so just hurry up and get to training." South snapped. North gasped, blunt nails digging into York's shoulders as his orgasm hit, sudden and hard.

They locked eyes, a stunned silence coming over them. Slowly, a grin pulled over York's face and he pushed up to kiss North again.

"You little exhibitionist." He murmured, rocking his hips to milk his own orgasm. North flushed, hiding his face in York's hair.


	8. Settle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why settle for one when you can have both?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Settle  
> Pairing: Church/Tucker/Washington  
> Rating: T and up  
> No warnings!
> 
> Also, I just want to say a quick thank you to Yin, I really appreciate you taking the time to give feedback on each story. It means a lot to me and I hope I can continue to please. And always, anyone can feel free to send constructive criticism so I can improve.  
> Another comment, I'm working on a North/Tex cuddle prompt, I'm just having a hard time getting it done because I dont ship it, myself. I'm sorry, it will get done.

Tucker wasn't even sure why he left his room in the first fucking place. What reason did he have to go into the main rec room of their base, anyway? The television didn't work, and the couch was creaky and rough. There was nothing appealing in the bleak room, so why did Tucker go in there in the first place? Why did he go in there, only to see Church run his thumb over Wash's cheekbone and lean in to kiss him. To see two men he loved so dearly, perfectly content with each other. Soft smiles and gentle kisses, the two leaned up against the wall and holding each other.

Tucker turned on his heel without saying a word, returning to his room so he could flop face first onto his bed. He turned around with a heavy sigh, staring at the ceiling as the tears built up in his eyes. How had he managed to fuck up like this? He had never planned on falling in love. Falling in love with two fucking people. And he never planned on feeling so broken when he saw those two people together. He wiped a hand over his face, spreading the tears.

And suddenly, kind brown eyes were staring into his as Wash wiped the tears away with a soft smile and callused hands touched his hair.

"Don't cry, then we can't see those pretty eyes." Wash murmured, pressing a soft kiss over the tear tracks.

"Buck the fuck up, you can't do shit if your crying, man." Church added, hand petting through Tucker's hair. Wash gave Church an unimpressed look, raising an eyebrow.

"We're comforting and seducing, no insulting." He chastised.

Tucker blinked as the realization slowly settled in. He had both men he loved, both of the people he'd wanted so badly, both of them sitting here to comfort him. He swallowed thickly as he pushed into a sitting position, Wash on one side and Church on the other, and looked between them. Wash gave a warm smile, tracing Tucker's lips with his thumb. Even Church's lips twitched into an almost smile, those pale blue eyes softening more than Tucker knew possible. Church leaned down to brush a kiss to the caramel skin of Tucker's shoulder, resting his chin there.

"Why settled for one when you can have both, right?" He asked, smirking. Tucker chuckled.

Yeah...why settle?


	9. Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day, neither of them spoke to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Secret  
> Pairing: South/Carolina   
> Rating:T I think  
> Warnings: Mentions of transphobia, and I suppose there's mild dubious consent with touching? Nothing sexual, but no permission is asked for or explicitly given. I might just be paranoid.

The rec room was large, though none of the freelancers got the chance to spend much time in there. The large TV was rarely on, the couches still looked brand new. All in all, the room was more for show than anything else. The freelancers couldn't relax, anyway.

Carolina, feet bare and sweatpants sweeping the cold ground, stepped into the rec room quietly, eyes landing on the blonde standing over a pool table. Strong arms, broad shoulders and a lovely curve of a waist. Carolina examined her from her spot in the doorway, breathing evenly, then stepped closer.

"So you and North used to be identical twins?" She finally asked, no real tone to her voice. She could see every muscle in South's body tense, could nearly hear her teeth grind.

"Yeah, so what?" South bit out harshly, looking just barely over her shoulder. Carolina couldn't say she was surprised, it seemed South couldn't speak to her without instantly getting defensive. And this? This was something she'd probably been through hell for. North had kept his mouth shut, refusing to say a word when the secret got out, and while the others didn't really care, Carolina wanted to know. Her interest was piqued, and she didnt want to admit that she wanted to just know more about South in general.

"I assume it wasn't exactly a welcome change for some people." She answered, running a hand through her red hair. South hesitated, looking a little further over her shoulder.

"No. It wasn't. Got called pretty boy a lot, got drag hag a few times, too..." South admitted quietly after a long moment of silence, and Carolina felt the brief clenching of anger flare in her chest.

Carolina stayed silent, moving up behind South slowly, surprisingly hesitant. Her hands hovered briefly over South's hips, giving the other the chance to have her stop. When south just let out a shaky breath, tension starting to leave her shoulders, Carolina rested her hands on her. Carefully, she trailed her hands up her waist, one moving forward to touch her toned stomach. She licked at her lips, resting her chin on South's shoulder.

"They're idiots. Anyone who called you those things, because I see nothing but a tough as shit woman." She said, voice uncharacteristically quiet. South swallowed thickly, leaning back into Carolina tentatively.

Both of Carolina's arms wrapped around South's waist, and the red head wasn't sure what the hell she was doing. Sure, she knew South was beautiful and stubborn as hell, but Carolina never thought about anything beyond a partner for a job. She didn't know why she was gravitating towards the blonde but she couldn't say it wasn't comfortable. Easy. South raised a hand to rest over the forearm resting across her stomach, breathing a little too quickly. Forcing herself to stay relaxed.

When Carolina turned her head to brush her nose behind the blond's ear, South tensed. She shoved away from Carolina, or rather shoved Carolina away, and stepped away. She stared wide eyed at the red head for a moment, and then she was getting out of the rec room as quickly as she could without running. Carolina stared on blankly as the door slid shut behind her.

The next day, neither of them spoke to each other.


	10. Crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theta hears the term 'crush' and naturally, he has to ask North what it means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Crush  
> Pairing: Sort of Theta/North?   
> Rating: G  
> No warnings.

North shook water from his hair as he shut the door to his bunk behind him. He tossed his towel to the side, then collapsed down onto his bed with a contented sigh. Stretching out on the small bed, North heard his back and shoulders cracking loudly and a wince contorted his face.

"I've got a question." That little voice called, and the bright purple AI suddenly appeared over North's chest. He chuckled, sitting up and watching the child-like AI, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah? Shoot." He answered, crossing his legs under him. Theta's head tilted a bit.

"South said something about you having a crush. What's that mean?" North couldnt help but smile at the innocent question, and he wondered briefly if it was possible to hold his AI into his side like he might a child.

"A crush? Its when you like someone a lot." He said, pressing his lips into a thin line as he thought through how to explain. "Its a little hard to explain. It's wanting that person to be happy and safe. Being willing to do anything for them. Its different than how you feel about your family, there's usually a physical aspect to it."

"What do you mean by physical?" Theta asked, rolling back and forth on his little skateboard as he listened to North. The blond chuckled, shrugging a bit.

"Most people want to be physically intimate with someone they have a crush on. Holding hands, hugging, kissing. Things like that. Does that make sense?" He raised a brow, and Theta nodded.

"I think so."

It was quiet then, and North moved around his room to pull his civvies on so he could go to sleep. He brushed his towel through his damp hair one more time, mostly to waste time since Theta hadn't disappeared yet. That usually meant he had more to say, but just wasn't quite sure how to yet. So, North gave him time. As he settled back on the bed, lying down, Theta moved to be near his head,

"North?"

"Yeah?" North answered with a little smile, eyes slipping shut.

"I have a crush on you." Theta replied. North tensed, eyes snapping wide open.

...Shit.


	11. Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> York never followed rules. And getting caught breaking them didn't deter him from enjoying himself,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Rules  
> Pairing: North/York  
> Rating: G (I think, it /might/ be T)  
> Warnings: This prompt was used very loosely.

The training floor had a very specific set of rules. No unscheduled training sessions, never unarmored, no live bullets. The list went on. And the director was very particular in making sure those rules were followed. York, however, had never quite been one for following rules. He could usually sweet talk himself out of trouble anyway, so bending the rules a little bit was easy to get away with.

Convincing North to train unarmored was easy enough, and before they knew it they were in their civvies across from each other on the training floor. York threw a few jabs, trying to get North distracted with blocking before landing a kick. North grabbed York's leg to keep it against his side, knocking his other foot out from under him. With a playful smirk, York twisted to knock North to the ground, and soon enough they were laughing and rolling on top of each other. They pinned each other down over and over again, unable to keep their laughter down.

"Agent York, Agent North!" A harsh, southern accent broke over the PA system, and the men froze. They leapt to their feet, standing at attention as their chests heaved. Their faces flushed, though whether it was from embarrassment or from the exercise was hard to tell.

"The training floor is not a playground. You are not here to have fun and you are expected to follow protocol." The director said, that threateningly calm tone never leaving his voice.

"Yes, sir." Both soldiers answered immediately, staring straight forward.

"Go take your showers. I expect you to be in the classroom five minutes early." The PA clicked off before either could answer, and they turned to march off to the showers without question.

As soon as the shower room door shut behind them, North and York relaxed in their walk, smiles returning to their faces. North stood a little closer than he needed to, and York bumped their hands together.

"Hey D," the green AI appeared between them instantly.

"How may I be of assistance?" He asked, York smirked a little.

"When do we have to be in the classroom?" The soldier asked. Delta was quiet for half a moment.

"With the Director's instructions to be there five minutes early, you have fifty-seven minutes before you have to be present." Delta answered. York hummed, smirking again.

"Good," he turned and pushed North against a tiled wall. "Looks like we've got time."


	12. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif has a piece of home to comfort him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Comfort  
> Pairings: Grif and Simmons   
> Warnings: none. Nada. Nope.  
> Rating: t for no reason other than Grif saying fuck.

Simmons hadn't expected finding the tattered piece of green fabric. He had just been cleaning, picking up the clothing they had tossed around the night before in a lust induced haze. He caught sight of the green cloth sticking out from under Grif's pillow, color long since faded.

Head tilting curiously, Simmons set down the crumpled shirt he had been holding so he could go move the pillow. He picked up the old piece of fabric, taking a moment of examining to realize it was a baby blanket. Brows furrowing in confusion, the soldier moved it around in his hands, the worn cloth soft against his skin.

He turned toward the door as he heard it open, Grif humming some song under his breath. He stopped as soon as he saw Simmons, but his eyes were locked onto the blanket. Simmons went to ask something - though what exactly he intended to ask, he wasn't actually sure- but Grif was next to him, snatching the blanket from Simmons before he could.

"Don't touch that!" He demanded, holding it high against his chest, nearly against his throat. Simmons blinked, slowly processing it all.

"How long have you had that?" He finally asked, grows furrowing again. "How come you never told me about it?" He added, trying to hide the hurt.

They were having sex, and all this time, Simmons had thought they were together. But did Grif not trust him? Simmons told him everything, absolutely everything, but Grif didn't trust him enough to mention the blanket? He thought so little of Simmons that he had to hide it? Or was Simmons just being paranoid? He knew he sometimes thought too much into things, was this one of those times?

"Got it when I was born. And come on man, you expect a full grown man to just be like 'oh yeah and this is my blankie that I need to sleep with' " Grif answered, tearing Simmons from his panicked reverie. He snorted, practically hiding his face in the blanket, and Simmons smiled warmly.

"Blankie?" He asked, raising a brow. He saw Grif's ears flush.

"Well yeah what the fuck do you call it?" He grumbled, carefully folding it back up to place it under his pillow once more. Simmons chuckled, wrapping an arm around Grif.

"You don't need to hide it." He said, leaning his chin on the man's shoulder. This was Grif, of course it wasn't an insult to him that he hid it. "If it makes you comfortable, keep it out." He shrugged, smiling.

Grif hesitated, then snatched it right back up to snuggle it into his face.


	13. Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker and Wash become penpals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Letter  
> Pairing: Wash and Tucker  
> Rating: T  
> Warnings: Minor sexual references and character death  
> Also this one is a little longer than normal sorry.

Dear Agent,

I know this is stupid, but some social worker at the training facility decided we needed to write letters to established soldiers. Get a feel for what life will be like when we leave training, I guess? Fuck if I know. I think its a load of bullshit, but whatever, I wanted a penpal when I was a kid. I don't know what I'm supposed to say, I guess ask you what its like? There time to get laid? I don't think I can handle more then a month without sex.

Sincerely,

L. Tucker

Dear Private Tucker,

I'm known as Agent Washington, hello. We had to do the same thing, I think they think it's therapeutic for the soldiers getting the letters. There's a lot of training, but we do have down time. I know a couple of the other agents here sneak off to be with each other, but it's not technically allowed. You'll have to get used to your hand, I guess.

Sincerely,

Washington

Dear Wash,

Can I call you Wash? And seriously, your codename is Washington? That's stupid. What's your real name? I didn't expect you to write back, to be honest. This guy I'm in training with, his letter got sent to his girlfriend. He literally cried when he got a letter back. I mean, we pretended not to notice, save the guy some dignity. Her name is Allison, maybe you know her.

Nice talking to you,

L. Tucker

Dear Tucker,

Yes, I know Allison. She's...something else. Number one in our ranks. There's not much else I'm allowed to tell you. My real name is David, but its been a long time since anyone called me that. What's your first name? I'm being sent out on a mission tomorrow, might take a few weeks. Don't worry if you don't get an answer, okay?

From,

Wash

Wash,

Few weeks, huh? Sounds dangerous, don't fuck it up. My name is Lavernius but I hate that, so just stick with Tucker, okay? We're leaving training, soon. Sent out to our first posts. I'm getting stuck with Church and this dumb shit Caboose. At least Church is a hot piece of ass. He keeps making fun of me and saying you're my boyfriend, I lied and said you sent me a picture of your junk and he actually believed me.

From,

L. Tucker

Dear Tucker,

I know it's been a while, our last mission didn't go as planned. You'll probably be at your new post when you get this. Good luck. You told him I sent you a picture of my personal areas? That's just...dammit, Tucker. At least let me buy you dinner first,

Yours,

Wash

Dear Wash,

New post is boring as hell oh my god. The TV is broken in the base, and the sun literally never sets. When we're both out of this you can definitely buy me dinner. I don't put out until the second date, though. It'd be nice to see you. Sort of like validation that you're real, y'know? Or am I getting too deep?

From,

L. Tucker

Dear Tucker,

Yeah, no I get it. It almost feels surreal, just sending letters back and forth. Knowing you're a real person but also...not knowing. I get it. Thoughts wander like that late at night. I know this is short, but I shouldn't be writing at all.

Always,

David

Wash, That's totally it. You so get it, man. And don't risk anything to send me a letter, I'll wait. I'll....I think I'll wait a long time for you. I know its fucked up, but like...you've sent photos and it just feels like we know each other better than we do. Sorry for getting all sappy and shit, I think the heat here is getting to me.

Yours,

Tucker

Dear Wash,

I know I said I'd wait but its been longer than usual. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Hope it's going good for you, maybe you can get some down time,

From,

Tucker

Private Lavernius Tucker,

We regret to inform you that Agent Washington from project freelancer has been killed in action. We have enclosed the letter addressed to you found on his person. You have our deepest sympathy.

Command

Tucker,

No, its fine. I'd wait for you, too. It's weird, but I think I might already have fallen for you.

Always,

Wash

Dear Davey,

Please come back.

Love,

Tucker


	14. Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theta learns by observation. The second step is application.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hands  
> Pairing: Can be considered Theta/Delta but not necessarily.  
> Rating: G  
> Warnings: overload of Theta being a precious little muffin.

Theta learned quickly. But that wasn't a surprise. All AIs learned quickly, taking in information constantly and processing everything around them. They were made to grow and adapt to the world around them, to change as they needed to so they could excel.

The child like AI first noticed it with North and South. Their fingers linked together as North lay in the medical bay. He watched the way their hands molded around each other, clasping tightly. It was fascinating, how their fingers just slid between each other like they were made to. Like gears fitting against one another. South rubbed her thumb over her brother's hand, and every so often, one of them squeezed.

Theta saw it again after North and York had laid down together after making love. North laid on top of York, their hands pressed together tightly. Theta saw his freelancer smile sleepily when York squeezed his hand, and it wasn't until North brought their hands up so he could kiss York's knuckles did the AI fully comprehend.

Affection, it was a sign of affection. South held North's hand in the med bay to comfort him, show him he was not alone. York held his hand to remind him he cared for him. It was much like a hug or a kiss, if Theta's thought process was correct. The thought intrigued Theta. Such a simple gesture, but watching it, it looked so intimate. So meaningful. And Theta was glad North had that.

It was months later, after plenty of studying and observing, that Theta decided he fully understood the concept.

Class had finished for the day, none of the freelancers having even stood from their seats yet. Theta moved towards Delta, waiting patiently for the other AI to notice him. When Delta turned from York to his fellow AI, Theta reached to take his hand. Delta was silent for a moment, looking down at their hands, and he heard York snort a laugh.

"Theta, I don't understand what you are trying to do." He finally said.

"I'm holding your hand. You're supposed to hold hands with people you care about. North does." Theta explained, a little proud at knowing something Delta didn't.

"I see. Thank you for the sentiment, Theta. I am fond of you, as well." The green AI answered after another long moment of silence.

If AI's could smile, York was certain Theta's grin would have broken his face.


	15. Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caboose makes all of his Christmas gifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Gift  
> Pairing: Mild Grif/Simmons  
> Rating: G  
> No warnings, but I do intend to write a Hannukah fic as well. When I post it, please correct me if anything is inaccurate as I do not celebrate Hannukah. I know its not a major holiday, but I digress. Happy Holidays everyone!

None of them really should have been surprised when they learned that Caboose was crafty. The idea of him using crayons and glitter was common, but actual crafts? Seeing him creating things was strange. So when everyone opened up a hand made Christmas present, there was a silent blanket of awe that fell over the room. Hand knitted scarves and hats, pillows sewn together perfectly, stuffed animals and dream catchers.

Church stayed huddled in his blanket whenever he could, and Sarge wore his socks every day. Wash made it a point to keep the stuffed cat right on top of his pillow, honestly appreciating it. He hadn't received a gift in quite a few years.

What no one was surprised by, however, was how their gifts matched the color of their armor. All of them except Grif and Simmons. They both had a scarf, knitted perfectly and just a little too long. But, Simmons had opened his sloppily wrapped gift to find a yellow scarf, and Grif opened his to find a dark red scarf, almost purple. They glanced at each other, and both smiled thankfully to Caboose when he eagerly asked if they liked their gifts.

"Yeah, thanks buddy, but, uh...." Grif answered, for once without any sarcasm dripping off his words. "I think you mixed our colors up." To which the blue spartan just shook his head.

"No I didn't. Now you two match each other." He smiled brightly, then turned to go make sure Tucker liked his pillow.

Simmons and Grif stared after him, gaping, for a moment before looking at each other. Simmons cheeks lit up with a pretty pink color, his freckles darkening a standing out. After a moment or two of silence, Grif huffed with a mild glare.

"God dammit, man, my armor isn't yellow!"


	16. Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donut loves mistletoe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mistletoe  
> Pairing: Church/Tex, North/York, Wash/Tucker and Grif/Simmons  
> Rating: G  
> No warnings. I know I promised a Hannukah fic and it will be done but this idea was given to me by a friend and it just sort of poured out.

Office parties were Donut's favorite part of the holidays. The food, the music, everything about it.

Especially the mistletoe.

He made a point to hang up a bunch of mistletoe in every doorway, fully intending on not letting anyone slip away without a kiss. Everyone needed a little holiday love, after all. Church had tried to get out of it by using his Jewish heritage, and it had worked. At first. Until he was in a doorway with Tex on his arm and the mistletoe was pointed out to them. He had blinked awkwardly, but tugged Tex into a soft little kiss nonetheless, one of her hands moving up into his hair. Donut had actually clapped, nearly squealing.

Wash had been cornered, North on one side of him and York on the other. He knew those smirks werent trustworthy, and he backed up until he couldn't anymore. York pointed up as they closed in on him, and he swallowed thickly when he noticed the offending plant hanging above him. Before he had the chance to do anything, he had both of them kissing him sloppily on each cheek. Face bright red, he slipped between the older men to go hide, maybe splash cool water on his face. North chuckled, tugging his laughing lover into him for a proper kiss.

Poor Washington hadn't been out of the bathroom for two minutes before he found himself under another bunch of mistletoe, and his eyes widened when his gaze met Tucker's. They stayed silent a moment, but they'd been noticed already. Shrugging, Tucker leaned into Wash, a hand tangling in chestnut hair, to press a surprisingly innocent kiss to his lips. He winked as he pulled away, and Wash felt a smile pull at his lips.

Grif had watched all of this happen from his own little corner, out of the way. He stayed huddled in his sweater - he was from Hawaii god dammit, he wasn't used to the cold! - and sipped at his eggnog. No one noticed him, really, and when Simmons walked over, they stayed silent. Until Simmons cleared his throat, pointedly looking up with a shy little blush. Grif followed his gaze, staring at the mistletoe hanging above them. Then he looked back at Simmons, smiling a little at the obviously embarrassed tint on his cheeks. Not saying a word, Grif leaned up and pressed into a kiss, lips moving slow and sweet. He heard Simmons let out a surprised squeak, and just cupped his jaw in response.

The only person who noticed the two flee the party hand in hand was Donut, and he was more than glad to know he'd helped them along.


	17. Dreidel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Church keeps finding little gifts in his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Dreidel  
> Pairing: Minor tucker/church  
> Rating: G  
> No warnings  
> Also I'm sorry this took me so long to get up agh. I've been really busy with Christmas and new years, and my birthday was yesterday. Plus, there's an issue with my med insurance so a treatment I need for an auto immune disease I have is a week late, and I'm still waiting for it. So I'm exhausted and just blah. I hope this is okay and for any Jewish readers I have, thank you for your patience.

Church was not what most people would call a religious person. This being said, he hated the hype around Christmas. The red and green, everyone singing carols too loudly and off key. It was as if no one remembered there were religious holidays other than Christmas.

Now he knew Hanukkah was not a big holiday. Not like Christmas was, at least. Just a festival of lights, a relatively simple holiday. But god dammit, it was still there. It was still just as important to him as Christmas was to all the other ass holes in the canyon.

That first night, Church went into his room to scratch a flame onto the menorah he has carved into his wall. There, sitting on his pillow, was a little gift wrapped in white and blue. Blinking in surprise, the spartan plopped onto his bed and grabbed it. He examined the box, eyes narrowing a little. 'To Church' was written neatly on the top, but it didn't say who from. Curious and a little suspicious, Church tore the paper off of the present. Inside the little box was a dreidel, attached to a chain like a necklace. It must have been hand made, the bottom a little too sharp and the lines on each side not quite correct. But Church knew what it was anyway. He let out a slow breath, and he couldn't hold back the tiny smile that twitched across his lips.

And for the next seven days, each night he'd come back to his room to find a little gift. A small Sudoku book, a pair of new head phones, he even received a sad attempt at a Latke. It was burnt around the edges, and had far too much salt, but Church made himself eat it. Of course, not where anyone could see him, but he ate it nonetheless.

But none of the gifts said who they were from.

Then again, part of Church wasn't sure he wanted to know. He accepted the gifts and appreciated them, he didn't need to know who left them. It might ruin the surprisingly warm feeling he got from them.

***

Getting the small gifts into Church's room without being noticed was easy enough. No one in the base really cared enough to search each other out or ask what they were doing. So, Tucker was able to slip his little presents onto the older man's bed without incident. And he knew damn well he'd never live it down if Church knew it was him. He'd be taunted mercilessly. But he also wanted Church to have his holiday. It meant a lot to Church, even if he refused to admit it. And if he felt his heart skip when he saw Church wearing the little dreidel, it was purely coincidence.


	18. Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You ready for the family to meet Cailee?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Meet  
> Pairing: No pairing, just South and North being siblings  
> Rating: G  
> No warnings!
> 
> I adore North and South having brother/sister moments and I will never believe that South didn't transition from male to female. It happened,

The waiting was agonizing.

Nick paced the living room impatiently, hands shoved into his pockets. After a year of Andrew - no, no her name was Cailee now - of Cailee being on hormone therapy, Nick was finally going to see her dress up. He was finally going to go to a family event with a twin sister instead of a brother. And he was so god damn sick of waiting. He wanted to see her.

He wanted to see her looking happy with herself. He wanted to see her face done up in make up and the light and flowy clothing draped over her body. He wanted her to smile and to be able to see it reach her eyes. It had been too long since he had seen her truly happy, and he missed it.

He turned hastily towards the stairs when he heard her bedroom door open, and he held his breath without realizing it. He could hear the click of those silver heels as Cailee walked down the stairs, pale pink nails digging into her palms nervously. Her plum colored dress hugged at her waist, only to flow away from her body until it came to a end just above her knees. She bit nervously into a glossed lower lip, those bright eyes staring at Nick only enhanced by the soft browns brushed over her lid.

It was silent a long moment, and Nick let out the breath he'd been holding as a smile tugged at his lips. He stepped up to her, grabbing her hands and tugging her close so he could kiss her cheek. Her eyes slipped shut, and she leaned into her brother as the nerves disappeared.

"You look absolutely beautiful." He whispered to her, fingers running over the thick strap of the dress. Cailee smiled at him, arms wrapping around his waist so she could hug him properly.

"Thank you. It really looks okay?" She asked as she stepped away, looking down at herself before spinning slowly. Nick reached to bat at the bow on her lower back as she spun.

"It looks amazing. I promise." He answered. Nick offered his arm, and Cailee took it with a smile, nodding once.

"You ready for the family to meet Cailee?" He asked.

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and nodded.


	19. Sensation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delta proves he's all York will ever need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sensations  
> Pairing: York/Delta  
> Rating: Explicit  
> Warning: Sexual content.   
> I don't....I don't even know. Don't judge me.

York wasn't sure what he was expecting when Delta asked to try an experiment, but it sure as hell wasn't this.

His hands clenched in the scratchy sheets in his bed, head thrown back into the pillow as he bit harshly into his bottom lip. He could feel those nonexistent hands brushed over his too sensitive nipples and feel a warm mouth around his cock despite knowing damn well no one was there. The sweat built up on his skin, too hot and too desperate and oh god, there was a tongue - a god damn _tongue_ \- brushing over the scar on his inner thigh. How the fuck had Delta even learned to do this? How was he doing it?

"I have access to all sections of your brain. I thus can manipulate the parietal lobe to allow you to feel whatever I choose. " Delta's voice cut into his thoughts and York was honestly surprised the thought had been coherent enough to warrant an answer.

"And I can make the experience far more gratifying than any human being." He continued, the ghost touches never wavering, "For example, I can stimulate the penis, rectum, mouth and breast simultaneously. As so."

York cried out, back bowing off the small bed. He could feel teeth biting into _both_ of his god damn nipples, tugging at the skin just enough to hurt. A soft, wet tongue massaging the vein running up the underside of his cock, warm and attentive and _amazing_. Lips, perfect and soft, pressed against his own mouth, and god he had to look ridiculous, pushing his tongue up into nothing. But he could feel it there, the teeth nipping at his bottom lip and the breath against his nose. And oh _fuck_ , sturdy fingers pressed him open slowly. He spread his legs without thinking about it, nearly sobbing from the overstimulation.

"Fuck, D, come _on_!" He whined, voice raspy and absolutely wrecked.

Taking pity on his freelancer, Delta allowed the sensations to grow in intensity. It took less than a minute for York to arch off the bed again, orgasm hitting harshly as he let off an incoherent string of ' _ohfuckDfuckinghell_ ' and his toes curled almost painfully into the bed. Gasping for breath, York melted into the bed, boneless and more than sated. He licked his lips, already missing the feeling of another pair pressed to them. Is that how Delta would actually feel? If he had a physical form, would his mouth be that soft? His hands that warm? Would Delta bite like that, not too hard but enough to leave a mark, enough to make York's chest tender in the best of ways?

A soft shudder went down his spine when he felt loving fingers run through his hair, and he sighed contentedly.

"You should sleep, York. " Delta said, and York knew that tone was softer than usual even if no one else would ever be able to tell.

He hummed, absently wiping his stomach off with a stray shirt before curling up on his side. He relaxed as the feeling of a strong, loving arm wrapped around his waist and a firm torso press to his back.


	20. Console

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker doesn't care was the PTSD causes, he loves Wash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Console  
> Rating: T  
> Pairing: Wash and Tucker  
> Warnings, this is a moment of PTSD symptoms and its relatively mild in that sense, but its still PTSD centric.

Wash woke up suddenly, all at once. Just like he always did, for longer than he cared to remember. He stayed tensed up, hand immediately sliding under the pillow for the gun that wasn't there anymore and all senses on edge as they waited for confirmation of danger. He didn't move, eyes scanning the darkness of the room in front of him. It took a long moment to realize he was in the blue base. The relatively safe blue base, with little chance of someone wanting to want him dead.

When he finally relaxed was when he felt the dampness along his legs and his eyes widened.

Fuck. Fuck _fuck_ , he hadnt had this problem since he was sixteen, what the fuck. Not now, why now? He felt his breath stop, and he tried desperately to gulp down the oxygen he needed. Christ, he was a fucking adult, a soldier, this was unacceptable. What the hell was the director going to....

It didn't matter. The director wasn't here.

But the realization didn't relax him.

Wash went to get out of bed, when a warm arm wrapped around him waist and a firm chest pressed into his back. The darker, latino skin looked warm against his own pale skin. He tensed, trying to push away, but Tucker went so far as to tangle their legs together, burying his face in Wash's neck.

"It's okay." He murmured softly, pressing kisses to the warm skin. Wash felt himself tense up even more, hands clenching so hard his nails dug broke into the skin of his palm. "You had a nightmare," Tucker continued, keeping the hold on his lover. "Something about Epsilon, it was bad. I couldn't wake you up."

"Let me up." Wash ground out through gritted teeth and Tucker kissed his hair.

"Not yet. You're fine, Washington. Its all okay. Shit happens, man, no problem." He murmured, pushing up on his elbow and moving Wash onto his back so they were looking at each other.

Wash stared at Tucker, eyes widening. He felt his eyes burn, and tugged the other man down into him to hide the tears building. Tucker wrapped up into him, kissing at whatever he could reach. Washington clung to him, trembling lightly.

"It's fine. We'll clean up then you'll let me kiss every inch of you." Tucker murmured, and Wash just nodded dumbly, feeling like a child but...but oddly enough it wasn't bad. It was....safe.

"I love you." The freelancer's voice cracked as he said it, and Tucker smiled warmly at him, touching his hair.

"I love you, too."


	21. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif asks what time it is. But why does he need to know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Time  
> Pairing: Grif and Simmons  
> Rating: T because of profanity.  
> Warnings: No warnings!
> 
> Also I am so sorry, I have not abandoned this and I plan on keeping it going. I just hit a serious patch of writers block and college started up so I've been busy with classes. I'm totally open to suggestions, and if anyone wants, my tumblr is jlmdemon so if you have critiques or requests or whatever, you can message me there. Thank you all so much for liking the drabbles I'm so happy Ive had such positive reviews<3

"What time is it?" Grif's voice broke the silence, and Simmons jerked in surprise. He sighed, annoyed at the interruption, and crawled out from under the jeep.

"Why do you need to know?" He asked, pulling his helmet off. The sweat was building at the base of his neck, sun blaring down on him like it always was.

"Because I need to know now what time is it, ass hole?" Grif answered, and Simmons couldn't help but roll his eyes.

He brought up the clock, installed right into his fucking eye because of /course/ that's where sarge would put it. Why put it somewhere that wasn't in the way when he could place it right in Simmons line of sight? He shut the biological eye he still had, his mechanical eye glowing a little more than usual as he used it. Grif waited quietly, and if Simmons wasn't so grateful for his silence, he'd be suspicious.

"Its eleven fifty-seven. Now leave me alone, I've got to finish working on the warthog." Simmons finally answered, picking his wrench back up.

Nodding, Grif took out the little kitchen timer he'd taken from Donut. It was cartoony, egg shaped with a smiley face. He set it for three minutes, then sat down against the base. Whatever, so long as he stayed quiet, Simmons didn't care. Simmons fell right back into his work, the world fading out so all he was focused on were the mechanical components and the wires running along the underside of the jeep. His teeth bit into his bottom lip as he worked, eye narrowing when something didn't cooperate. He was so lost in his own little world, he jerked in surprise and dropped his wrench right onto his face when that stupid egg dinged.

"Oh my god what the _fuck_ Grif!' He demanded, seething. Grif smiled at him.

"Happy birthday, Simmons." He said, voice surprisingly soft, before turning to return the egg to it's place on the counter. Donut would be wondering where it was, after all.

Simmons blinked, mind reeling to process the simple sentence. A smile slowly pulled over his lips, and he reached to pick up his wrench again. Well...maybe he could forgive Grif this once.


	22. Ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tattoo can be used to cover a scar. But sometimes, it is the scar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ink  
> Rating: T  
> Pairings: Tuckington  
> Warnings: Mentions of character death

It could be said that Tucker was an attentive lover, but it was purely selfish.

He adored hearing his partner fall apart. He loved the taste of their skin, the sweat and desire dancing over his tongue. He wanted to make his lover tremble down to their very core, see them in their purest state. His attentive ways during sex were less to please his lover and more to please himself.

He slid into bed easily, dark tan hands running up Wash's exposed back. He could feel the well toned muscles quiver under his touch and it sent a wave of warmth over him. Wash sighed contentedly, relaxing as those talented hands moved up over his shoulders and down his biceps. Tucker leaned down to press a kiss to the bouquet of wild flowers tattooed intricately into the other man's shoulder.

"Why'd you get this tattoo?" He asked, lips still pressed against the skin, moving kisses up and down along the ink. Washington stayed silent for a long moment.

"State flowers. For every freelancer we lost." He finally replied, voice cracking just enough to be heard, and Tucker paused.

"North and South were first. I got CT's next. Florida. Then York. Wyoming. I started the outline for Maine. " he continued, eyes clamping shut as he spoke.

Tucker swallowed thickly, rearranging so he was sitting up enough to get a good look at the tattoo. He trailed his fingertips over the skin, staying silent. He sighed quietly, then leaned down to kiss over the inked skin once more, these kisses softer. Less for himself, this time. Washington's skin was warm, but pale against Tucker's own skin, and Tucker pet a hand through blond hair lovingly.

"I'm sorry." He breathed out, nudging his nose along the base of Wash's neck.

Wash felt his hands clenching, dull nails pressing into his palm. He had needed a way to keep those people close. The desperate ache he felt each time yet another one of them died didn't fade with the tattoos, but he felt....better. Pleased he could honor his friends, if only in such a minor way. That ink sat heavily in his skin, weighing his shoulder down as if he had a weight strapped there. A constant reminder of the lives needlessly lost.

And if Tucker noticed the tears slowly soaking into the pillow beneath his lover's head, he didn't say a word.


	23. Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They did not make love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Name  
> Pairing: Felix/Locus  
> Rating: Mature  
> Warnings: Not too explicit but definitely sexual
> 
> I also have never written either of these characters before. I just wanted to give it a try because the idea just sort of hit me really suddenly. This is why I shouldn't watch the first episode of season thirteen at one in the morning.

They did not make love.

Love was not a word that Locus would ever associate with what they did. There was nothing soft or sweet about it. They were rough, a blaze of harsh desire and need and blood and cum. They dragged it out, more of a fight than having sex, and god dammit they got what they wanted from. It was all simply a means to an end.

It was not making love.

If Locus had the only say, it wouldn't be like this. It would be almost mechanical in nature, every action precise and with meaning. Touch here to arouse fully, lube up to reduce damage, stroke to achieve orgasm. Fast and simple and without any of the bullshit that wasn't needed.

But he wasn't the one making the decisions.

Felix was like the wind. Uncontrollable and everywhere at once, doing whatever he wanted for no reason other than to do it. His fingers trailed over every inch of skin, pressed into the flesh until the blood pooled into a bruise under them. His mouth sucked and kissed and bit everywhere, marking up Locus' skin. He was the one who made these moments last, he was the one who pulled at his partner's hair and whispered filth into his ear and pushed the limits of everything Locus was comfortable with.

But it was not making love.

Felix never fell asleep in Locus' bed. Locus never wrapped around the slimmer man when they finished. They didn't kiss and cuddle after, there was no silly pillow talk or sleepy teasing. Often times, they weren't even fully undressed when they fucked, they simply shoved their clothing out of the way. No one could call what they did 'making love'.

But fucking hell, the way Felix said Locus' name. The way the sounds rolled so sweetly off his tongue like gentle waves, nearly a whimper as they fucked. The way he chanted that name like a prayer when his body tensed up, head thrown back and back arched as his orgasm wracked his spine. The almost lyrical lilt to his voice as he whispered it into Locus' ear when he took him from behind or how absolutely wrecked his sounded when he gasped it out as Locus pounded into him.

Well, to Locus, it almost felt like making love.


	24. Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junior knows he's different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Different  
> Pairing: Mild tuckington  
> Rating: G  
> Warning: It sort of deals with racism in a way, but not explicitly.  
> Also, Tucker being a daddy gives me life.

Junior's little fists bunched up in the denim of Tucker's pant leg as he peeked around his father's knee. The other children in the classroom were loud and messy, running around like the little balls of energy five year olds tended to be. Even the twins, Carolina and Epsilon, had run off and away from Tex and Church. Tucker reached to pet a hand through Junior's hair, giving a reassuring smile.

"Its okay buddy. You'll be with Carolina and Epsilon, they're your friends." He assured him.

Junior sniffled, then looked at his hand. He opened and closed his fist, teeth biting into his bottom lip. Then he looked back up at the other students. He swallowed, then looked up at his father with tears brimming his eyes.

"I'm different from them, daddy." He said, voice quiet, and Tucker's chest clenched painfully.

Junior _was_ different from them, and Tucker knew it. Darker skin and darker hair. His eyes were nearly black, and his clothes were a little bit run down. When he spoke, he was unsure of himself, often confusing words so he was switching between English and Spanish in one sentence.

Tucker swallowed back the lump in his throat, turning so he could kneel in front of his son. He took both of those little hands in his own and locked eyes with the child. Junior sniffled again, shuffling his feet as his gripped tightly at Tucker's fingers.

"Yeah, buddy. You're different from them. But that's not bad, okay?" He said. Junior shrugged. "Everyone is a little bit different. Remember Delta? He's different, too, remember?" He tilted his head as he asked. Junior's face scrunched up.

"He's got....high....funk-shuning autisn?" He asked, and Tucker smiled, nodding.

"That's it, high functioning autism. He's really smart but he's not good at talking to people. But you still like Delta, right?" He continued, and Junior nodded vigorously.

"Delta's my friend." He said firmly.

"Exactly. See? Just because you're different doesn't mean no one will like you. You'll make lots of new friends, I promise." He tugged Junior closer and kissed his forehead.

Junior wrapped his arms around Tucker's neck, squeezing. As Tucker stood back up, Junior squared his shoulders like Auntie Tex taught him and he walked away from his dad towards the play area. Almost instantly, he was pulled into a game of knights. A toy sword was being handed to him as another child explained which army was which. Tucker relaxed a little, smiling. He jerked when a hand landed on his shoulder, and he smiled at Washington. The older man offered a smile, thumb rubbing lovingly up towards his neck.

"He's gonna be fine." Wash said softly and Tucker nodded, returning his gaze to the group of kids chasing each other with their swords.

"Yeah...yeah, he will."


	25. Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had said he'd be fine. He was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Warm  
> Pairing: Felix/Locus  
> Rating: Mature  
> Warnings: Character death and this one is pretty dark. It details pleasure from murder because Felix is a psychopath, so please tread lightly.

Felix had insisted he'd be fine. He swore up and down and every other direction that he didn't fucking _need_ Locus. Sure, they worked well together. But he worked well by himself, too. Felix didn't need anyone and he had made sure locus fucking knew it. 

He had said he would be fine, but he hadn't expected it to feel like this.

He hadn't expected the emptiness he felt when he turned to his side and the other mercenary wasn't there to hear him exclamation. He didn't think it would be so quiet at night in their bunk without that steady breathing from the other man, or that he'd ever miss being told to shut up. It was suddenly so quiet all the time, Felix having lost any desire to talk. He couldn't tell jokes or stories, he couldn't laugh or even smile.

He missed that companionship. He missed having someone who understood that hunger for blood. He had never met another person who thirsted for someone else's pain quite like he did. Someone who felt their spine shudder when a scream pierced the air or who smiled wide when warm blood splattered across their face. And god, Locus did. Locus knew the rush of excitement that came with ending a life, understood the pure, unadulterated pleasure that seeing a person's fear brought. It didn't bring him that euphoria anymore. He couldn't get a rush from the begging and pleading anymore,

But most of all, he had never expected it to feel so lonely without Locus beside him.

Felix had been by himself for the majority of his life and he had been fine with that. People got under his skin like tics and he preferred his solitude. He charmed his victims to him, but that personable exterior disintegrated as soon as the fly was in his web. But having Locus beside him had felt warm. He had desired that closeness once he had it and he hadnt even realized it. He missed that warmth.

And sitting next to that stone just wasn't the same.


	26. Believe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash shows up at their door, bloody and bruised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Believe  
> Pairing: Tucker/Washington/Church  
> Rating: T  
> Warnings: mentions of domestic abuse
> 
> I am on a motherfucking roll these last few days! Holy shit! I'm so happy my writer's block went away!

When Wash showed up at their door, lip bleeding and face bruised, Church felt the rage boil under his skin. It bubbled just near the surface, leaving his face relatively calm but lighting those ice blue eyes on fire. And seeing Wash flinch at his anger only served to fuel it.

Tucker had far less control. He stormed through the little apartment, yelling off some of his most creative insults to date. The grouchy old woman who lived below them shouted for them to quiet down and Tucker kept thundering around as if she hadnt spoken at all. Church had to wrap his arm around Tucker's waist and hold him close to keep the younger man from stomping right out the god damn door.

"It's fine, guys." Wash insisted, holding the ice pack he had been given against his swollen eye.

"No. No, it really fucking isn't." Church snapped back at him, arm still tightly wrapped around Tucker and holding him flush against his chest.

Church sighed, eyes closing as he rested his forehead on Tucker's shoulder.A darker, tanned hand moved up to tangle in black hair. They stayed silent a long moment, Church's eyes closed and Tucker's locked onto the man sitting on their couch. Swallowing thickly, Tucker gently pulled Church's arm from it's place around his waist. He went to settled on the couch beside Washington, and sent Church a questioning look.

Church nodded, already on his way to sit on Wash's other side. He pried his hand from the ice pack, pressing it gently to the swollen skin himself. His other hand touched Wash's jaw tentatively, thumb rubbing along the curve of his jaw bone. Tucker's hand slid down Washington's arm until he could tangle their fingers together. He squeezed, pulling up the pale hand to kiss the knuckles.

Wash swallowed thickly, suddenly light headed. His heart was racing, jumping up into the base of his throat. He could feel the blood pulse through the bruise around his eye. The emotion hit him, suddenly overwhelming him. His hand tightened in Tucker's hold and tears managed to sneak their way down his cheeks as he leaned into Church's soft touch.

"Can I stay here for a while?" He choked out.

"We're not letting you fucking leave to go back to that dickwad." Church snorted, and Wash wanted to sob in relief.

"We'll treat you way better." Tucker promised.

And Washington believed him.


	27. Proud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarge is proud of his boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Proud  
> Pairing: None really  
> Rating: T  
> Warnings: This story was so half assed omfg. I'm so sorry. Also, this is based off of a post on tumblr.

Sarge was a little delirious. The fever wracking his body was intense, and Doc couldn't do much for him but give him morphine for the terrible aches in his body. Whatever it was that had gotten him so sick wasn't something any of them had ever seen before. Even so, Doc was insisting that the man would be fine. He just needed to push through this and he'd be through the worst of it.

Sarge was laid on a cot, armor having been wrestled from him so an IV could be placed. Simmons stayed by him most of the time, and Grif stayed by Simmons.

"Boys..." Sarge's groggy voice broke the silence on the third day, and Simmons perked up instantly.

"Sir?" He asked, hopeful. Grif muttered under his breath, something that sounded like 'kissass'.

"My boys. I'm proud of them boys. " Sarge continued, eyes not open. Grif and Simmons tensed, and Grif stepped closer tentatively as his brows furrowed a bit.

"You know...I'm not always the best father. But I must'a done something right. Even Grif didn't turn out so bad. " a vague smile touched Sarge's lips. "You should meet 'em. Simmons is one smart sonnuva bitch. Donut got a heart of gold. Grif is a lazy fuck but he's damn loyal. I did good raising my boys." Sarge broke off into a yawn, then relaxed further into his pillow. His face scrunched up a bit in pain, then he fell back into a half sleep.

Grif left in a haste, door slamming behind him and eyes brimming with tears. He collapsed just outside the door, against the wall, wiping the tears off his cheeks quickly. Oh fuck. Sarge was proud of them. Sarge was proud of _him_. He sunk down onto the ground, leaning his head against the wall. What the fuck how was he supposed to react to that. The echo of the word repeated in his head, 'proud' ringing through his ears.

Simmons was tense, hands trembling in their place by his sides. His head hung and drops from his eyes hit the floor. God, had he ever heard that someone was proud of him? He swallowed thickly, wiping his eyes as he moved closer to Sarge. He pulled the scratchy blanket up over him, still trembling.

"Thanks dad."


	28. Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharing breath, sharing smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Smoke  
> Pairing: Grif/Simmons  
> Rating: T  
> Warnings: recreational drug use
> 
> I love shot gunning in fics or movies or whatever. Something about it builds the sensuality and intimacy between two characters for me.

Under most other circumstances, Richard Simmons and Dexter Grif would never be friends. They were too different, Richard loving his school work and Dex loving to laze around. But, they ran with the same group. So an unstable, awkward friendship that Rich didn't understand had blossomed.

He arrived at Dexter's house well before anyone else in their group, mostly to get away from his father, and the shorter boy was fiddling with a small piece of paper when he walked up.

"What up, Richie." Dex greeted, because he knew how much Richard hated it.

"What're you doing?" Rich asked in lieu of answering. Dex held up the now rolled paper and grinned.

"Getting a joint. " he answered, sticking it in his mouth and digging his zippo lighter out of his pocket. "Want some?" Dex added as an afterthought. Richard coughed awkwardly into his hand. Dexter laughed, inhaling deeply as he lit the joint.

"Come on. Shot gunning is the best way for a newb like you." Dex gestured for Richard to sit next to him, and he scooted over a bit to give room.

Swallowing nervously, Rich settled on the stoop beside him. Grif would just laugh if he asked what 'shot gunning' was, hell he laughed at knowing Rich had never smoked. The last thing he wanted to do was embarrass himself further. He could break rules, dammit. He wasn't some goody two shoes like the group insisted he was.

"Come on, lean near me and keep your mouth open. When I breathe out, you breathe in." Dexter explained, and Rich went a little pink, hating that Dexter just knew he was flying blind.

Richard did as he was told as Dexter took another long drag. A hand landed on his shoulder, and for a moment Rich thought Dex was going to kiss him. But he stopped inches away, their noses bumping. Richard could feel the heat on his face, and he clamped his eyes shut. Dexter breathed out slowly, the used smoke blowing out against Richard's lips and the taller boy breathed in tentatively. It was too sweet, and it made his throat scratchy. He had to bite back a cough, desperately wanting to keep the proximity to Dex. Dexter lingered a few moments longer, and Rich almost tried to follow when he pulled away. It suddenly felt cold without Dexter so close, and sharing the smoke with him had felt intimate in a way that Rich hadn't expected. Had Dex felt it? Was he just as breathless and lightheaded?

Dexter chuckled, breaking the thought process as he leaned his head back and breathed out the rest of the smoke.

"Maybe you can manage to take an actual hit, next time." He commented, sending a teasing wink to Rich. Richard gave an uneasy laugh, cheeks flushed, and he deflated.

'Guess that's the best I'll get." He thought, forcing a smile as Leonard and Tucker strolled up the walk.


	29. Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Church and Wash have a little talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Discussion  
> Pairing: Tucker/Washington and past Tucker/Church  
> Rating: T  
> Warnings: I don't think there are any warnings. I just...I love this one.

Tucker had fallen asleep nearly an hour ago, the thin sheen of sweat still clinging to his body from the hours of touching and kissing and loving. Wash, however, was wide awake, lying beside Tucker and running his fingers through his lover's hair. He listened to the careful, steady breathing beside him, a vague smile touching his lips. How the fuck had he gotten this lucky? He'd done nothing to deserve such an amazing man, such a caring lover. Tucker deserved so much more and he fell into Wash like the freelancer was all he ever wanted. 

"Hey, Wash." Church's voice broke the silence, and Washington glanced at the AI from the corner of his eye.

"Were you watching?" He asked flatly, and he saw Church shrug. They remained silent a long while, both watching Tucker as he slept.

"Just....take care of him, okay? He deserves it." When Church finally spoke again, it wasn't the tone of voice Wash was used to. His voice was so much softer, broken in a way that took a moment to understand. Wash poked his tongue out to wet his lips, then nodded.

"It was before any of this bullshit." Church continued before Wash could speak, seeing the gears running in the man's head and pinpointing exactly when the realization dawned on him. "Flowers or Florida or whatever the fuck you want to call him, he was still here. We were stupid, man. Just...acting like we'd make a life when we got out of here." Church gave a soft, sardonic snort of laughter and shook his head. 

Wash stayed quiet, fingers still threading through Tucker's hair. Tucker loved him, he knew that. The spartan loved wholly, throwing his entire being into it, and Wash had no doubt that Tucker meant it when he whispered how much he needed Wash, how in love with him he was. That being said, something told him Tucker still dreamed of Church, still longed for those nights when they were ignorant to the hell around them and would fall into bed together with playful laughs and hopeful eyes.

"I love him." Wash said softly, barely a breath, and Church nodded. 

"I know. He loves you. I cant....I'm not what he needs. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to throw you the fuck out and take him for myself but that's not an option." Wash snorted a laugh, rolling his eyes. Something about the statement almost sounded fond, and it left Wash wondering how this had become his life.

"I'll take care of him, Ep-....Church." Washington promised, tilting his head so he was looking at the AI. Church nodded, and before Wash could speak again, he disappeared.


	30. Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif is apparently a good shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Shot  
> Pairing: Minor grif/Simmons  
> Rating: T  
> Warnings: not sure I like the ending and there's a giant spider so beware.

If he was being honest, Simmons initially thought that the ear splitting screech had come from Donut.

He rushed into the next room, eyes wide with worry. Instead of seeing Donut in pain or in some sort of danger, Simmons saw Grif up on his bed with only half his armor on. Simmons blinked, then deflated with an aggravated sigh.

"What the fuck, Grif?" He demanded.

"There's a huge fucking spider!" Was Grif's panicked reply.

"Are you serious? Its just a sp- _Jesus fucking Christ!"_ Simmons had to cut himself off when the spider came out from under Grif's chest plate.

It had to be the size of a person's head, maybe even bigger. So big that Simmons could see each of it's eyes. How he ended up on the bed beside Grif, he wasn't quite sure. But there he was, he and Grif gripping at each other , stumbling back and away from the monster on the floor.

"Its two fucking feet across!" Simmons exclaimed, voice shrill and harsh.

"I told you! I fucking _told_ you!" Grif  clutched at Simmons' arm, eyes never leaving the hell spawn still skittering around the floor.

They both screamed when the spider moved closer, stumbling back again. Grif fumbled his hand at Simmons' hip and pulled the pistol that was latched there into his hands. He aimed then shot as the spider moved again. The bullet hit dead center of the creatures back. It twitched, then collapsed. Simmons blinked, then went lax with shot.

"You just hit a moving target." He said, the shock oozing off of him. Grif shrugged as he handed the pistol back.

"Yeah, so?" He asked, hopping off the bed. Simmons just watched, loosely holding the gun. Even though the spider was dead, Grif kept as much distance as possible between it and himself.

"You're...you're a good shot." Simmons repeated, still incredulous. Grif shrugged again.

"I guess."

And Simmons really should not have found that fact so damn attractive.


	31. Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That was a victory in of itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Victory  
> Pairing: Tuckington  
> Rating : T  
> Warning: There's fairly graphic detail of injuries.

Washington stumbled ungracefully into the main entrance of the ship, an arm wrapped tightly around his stomach. His visor was cracked, but it had saved his eye from being destroyed. His ribs must have been cracked, it hurt to breathe. Tendrils of pain made his vision blurry and his head spin with every breath. He pulled his helmet off, letting it crash to the floor.

"Where is he?" He rasped out, wincing.

"He's unconscious..." Grey began, and Wash nearly growled.

"That's not what I asked." He demanded, cutting her off. Carolina pushed through the soldiers watching awkwardly, her own helmet in hand.

"We've got him in his bed. The wound is bandaged and we don't think any organs were hit. But he did lose a lot of blood." She said, gesturing for the soldiers to clear the way. They shuffled to the sides quickly, watching curiously as Wash stumbled past them with Carolina's help.

She led him into the room, easing him onto the edge of the bed. Tucker was pale, abdomen wrapped up with gauze and blood seeping through a little. Washington let out a relieved breath, fingers carding into the man's hair. Tucker seemed to relax a little, head lolling to the side so Wash's hand pressed more firmly against his head. Carolina relaxed in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb as she watched. Church appeared by her head, blinking briefly before solidifying.

"Yo. He'll be fine, man. Once he replaces some of the blood he lost, he'll wake right up." The AI assured, and Wash's lips twitched at the corners.

"Let Grey look at you, she can do it in here." Carolina said, firm but with a softness in her voice that sounded almost motherly.

It took almost an hour for Grey to patch Wash up properly. His face was bruised, and his ankle was swelling up from a sprain. Only one rib had cracked despite the ugly, near black bruise on his abdomen, and the pain medication left it as little more than a dull ache. His shoulder throbbed from Grey relocating it, and there was a bloody scratch where a bullet had grazed him just right. Wash downed the bottle of water he was given, throat raw and sore. The warm water tasted better than it probably should have. The full force of the medication hit him all at once, and when he swayed on his feet, Carolina helped him to the bed.

When Tucker finally woke a few hours later, Washington was wrapped around him, face buried in the smaller man's neck, and Tucker didn't care that he had been stabbed. Wash was okay, breathing against his skin.

Alive.

That was a victory in of itself.


	32. Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarge wont standby while someone insults his kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Dad  
> Rating: T  
> Pairing: all the pairings.  
> Warnings: Homophobia, trans phobia and Donut is agendered.

The burger joint that Simmons' adoptive father, Sarge, owned was the group's hang out after school.

Today, like every other day, they had dragged a table over to the biggest booth, along with a couple chairs. Caboose was in the booth, between Wash and Carolina.Carolina and South sat with their legs up on each other's lap, sitting on either side of the table. South had only been on hormone therapy for a week or so, and even with her dress and long hair, many people saw her and assumed she was a boy. Church took one of the chairs, Tex perched on his knee with his arm around her waist. Washington had his legs open, Tucker leaning his back against the larger teen's chest. Grif's hand was laced with Simmons', and York held North's hand across the table as they spoke.

"Where's Donut?" Carolina asked, plucking a fry from the large plate st the center of the table.

"They're with Frankie. They both got some money for a proper date." Simmons answered, absently playing with Grif's fingers.

The conversation continued, playful banter and fries flying across the table at each other. Every so often, Tucker took a sip from the soda that Wash was holding, and Tex somehow ended up with Church's hat on. None of them really noticed when the bell above the door jingled and a group of what looked like suburban moms walked in. They didn't react to the new additions in the room until the women were just feet away, glaring at them.

"You got a problem?" Church asked, raising an unimpressed brow. The woman who stepped forward like a pack leader scoffed.

"Its disgusting. All of you. Shoving it in people's faces." She gestured vaguely to the couples.

"And you. Wearing a dress? A young man shouldn't be dressing like a girl." One of the other's added. South's face went red with anger, and York had to squeeze North's hand to keep him from standing.

"It's none of your god damn business, lady." Tucker answered, tugging Wash's arm more tightly around him and Wash rested his chin on the darker teen's shoulder.

"Its repulsive. This is an establishment for the public, and you shouldn't be forcing people to witness this." The leader spat. Before anyone else could get a word in, Sarge was stepping up from behind the counter.

"One of them 'repulsive' kids happens to be mine, ma'am." He said, voice dangerously calm. "And I won't sit here and let you insult my kids in my place of business." Sarge paused. "Unless its Grif."

"Hey!"

The women went red, one of the sputtering as she tried to think of how to explain herself. When Sarge just raised a brow at them, they turned on their heels and haughtily stormed out. Sarge rolled his eyes, placing a new plate of fries down on the table.

"Did we do something wrong?" Caboose asked. Wash nudged his shoulder.

"Nope. They were just mean." He answered. Caboose nodded, accepting the answer easily.

"And South?" Sarge piped up before he started to leave. She looked up, jaw clenched up. "You're a beautiful young lady and ain't no one gonna' tell you different." He said. He didn't give anyone the chance to answer before he was returning to the kitchen.

Those women never came back. Sarge wouldn't have served them, anyway,


	33. Clash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was what Tucker loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Clash  
> Pairing: Church/Wash/Tucker  
> Rating: G  
> Warnings: No warnings.
> 
> Just because the world needs more of this ot3 and BSB is apparently my muse.

Wash and Church clashed, god did they clash. Their personalities were made to hate each other and their heads butted harshly. They would fight over who spent more time with Tucker, over who should do what chores, over what movie to watch. They couldn't agree on anything except how much they loved Tucker, and that one agreement might have caused more fights than any disagreement ever did.

But this was what Tucker loved.

He loved when Church thought both he and Wash were asleep. When the man would sigh contentedly, reaching to brush his finger's through Wash's hair. When he leaned down to press a kiss to his temple and breathe out a quiet 'I'm sorry' against the freckled skin. Tucker loved the rare softness that warmed those blue eyes, how Church couldn't help but smile as he just touched his lovers.

And without fail, Wash's hand would snap up to grab Church's wrist. Tucker kept his eyes mostly closed, but he knew Church's shocked face well enough. Wash would smile softly, that little quirk at the corners of his lips, and he'd tug Church down into him.

There would be a soft press of lips on lips before Tucker would open his eyes again to watch them. Church cupping Washington's face as Wash's hands tangled in his hair to pull him closer. Tucker loved the soft 'I love you's his two lovers would trade, barely loud enough to hear and only in these little moments. It was intoxicating to see these two men, fire and ice, melding together so seamlessly, if only for a moment. There was a heat in their softness that lingered, a residual spark from the fighting that, instead of blazing into more yelling, would erupt into the boundless passion that Tucker knew they both had.

Tucker loved these moments because they reminded him that Wash and Church loved him, but they also loved each other.


	34. Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Palomo is sent to find his superiors when they're late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Dance  
> Pairing: Tuckington  
> Rating: G  
> No warnings. 
> 
> I have become Tuckington trash.

Palomo sighed, trudging through the halls. Of course he had been just as worried as everyone else when neither Tucker nor Washington had showed up for practice that morning, but why did he have to look for them? "Don't come back without them," they had demanded, and Palomo sighed again as he thought about it. What if he couldn't find them? Or what if something terrible had happened? Just the brief thought sent a harsh shudder down his spine.

As he walked through the halls, now panicking thoroughly, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He stopped, stepping back to check what he had seen.

The door he had passed had a large glass window. Peeking inside, Palomo saw a large and mostly empty storage room. The room was bleak, the same gunmetal grey as every other room. It probably echoed loudly, especially with so few objects in the room. On the floor, Palomo saw the familiar aqua and blue pieces of armer. Piled neatly, out of the way.

And there was Wash and Tucker, wrapped around each other. Tucker had his face buried in Wash's freckled neck, his arms wrapped tightly around the taller man's waist. Wash had his own arms firmly clasped around Tucker as well. It looked like he was murmuring against Tucker's skin, but Palomo couldn't be sure. The two swayed back and forth gently, just holding each other and listening to each other's breathing.

Palomo swallowed thickly, staring for a moment. With a little exhale, he let his shoulders drop and he stepped away. His superiors deserved their time, something to pull them away from the hell around them. They needed something that grounded them and Palomo knew that. He turned to head back to the training room.

He could handle the others yelling at him if it meant Wash and Tucker got to have their moment.


	35. Dominant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tex is dominant. This is not a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Dominant  
> Pairing: Tex/Church  
> Rating: E  
> Warnings: Sexually explicit
> 
> This one is completely BloodstainedBlonde's fault.

Tex's heels clicked as she circled around Church, the man on his knees on the floor. His hands were tied behind his back and his cock was straining against the dark blue lace of his panties. The panties rested against his skin easily, blue and black and already damp. He did his best not to squirm under that piercing green gaze, but he was getting so impatient. How long had he been like this, just waiting for Tex to do something? Long enough for the hickies on his chest and thighs to settle into a pleasing purple, long enough for his nipples to feel sore and raw from too much attention.

"Tex, please!" He whined, catching the smirk that touched those pretty lips. Her hand pet through his dark hair, black nails scratching lovingly at his scalp and Church leaned into the touch.

"Get up." Tex commanded.

Church pushed to his feet unsteadily, eyes never leaving Tex's face. She shoved him down onto the bed and Church felt himself twitch behind the lace. Tex settled on her knees, hands on her lover's thighs. Church arched his back, teeth biting harshly into his bottom lip. With another smirk, Tex leaned into him to mouth at the outline of his cock through the panties. Church moaned, hips writhing against the bed. Tex licked and kissed at him, hands still rubbing at his thighs.

She didn't stop, kept going aggressively as Church fell apart under her. He moaned and whined, letting out an incoherent babble of ' _pleasefucktexplease_ ' and other noises that didn't quite fill out into words. Tex dug her nails lightly into his skin, and Church cried out. She felt him tense up as he came, knowing his shoulders must be sore from being tied up behind him. Tex simply mouthed at him as the pleasure wracked his body. When he finished, Tex moved up to kiss beside his ear.

"I didn't say that you could come, yet." She breathed out.

Church whimpered.


	36. Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Palomo is stronger than he looks and Bitters is a grouchy dick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Cry  
> Rating: T  
> Pairing: Bitters/Palomo BECAUSE I AM TRASH  
> Warning: verbal abuse

Palomo didn't have many friends through elementary school or middle school. He and his family moved around often because of his father's job, and it was difficult to always be the new kid. But his parents had promised this was the last move, so going into high school seemed like a brand new beginning for him.

But it wasn't any better.

The group he fell in with was nice enough. They didn't get into trouble, they stuck to their curfews and got their schoolwork in on time. But they were relentless. Always making fun of him. He was always the butt of the joke, always the one that the others joked on. He heard 'annoying' often, and was sometimes called the 'friend that nobody likes.' A joke would be told and the group would burst into laughter, all at Palomo's expense.

And Palomo would force a grin. He laughed along with them, let them say what they wanted. He'd been so lonely for so long, and despite how the jokes hurt, he wanted friends. He wanted someone to be with, to sit with at lunch or to partner with in class. He could handle the pain of being their verbal punching bag. So long as he had a group to be with.

***

Bitters didn't understand. He really didn't. Palomo was fucking _annoying_. That stupid, shaggy brown hair and his dumb grin that looked like it was fueled by sunshine. He was clingy and laughed too loud, he was clumsy and he only understood half of the jokes he heard. Bitters thought his voice was grating and the kid was pathetic. Small, like he could be blown away by the wind.

And yet, Bitters hated when the group made fun of him.

Which only served to piss the already grouchy teenager off.

It had been months into the school year before Bitters had just accepted his stupid, annoying crush on Palomo. If he ignored it, it would just go away. That theory was crushed after Track practice one Thursday. Bitters went back for the homework he had left in his locker before practice, and just as he was leaving, he heard it. So quiet, he almost thought he imagined it. But there it was again, that sniffling sound from deep in the locker room. Curiosity piqued, Bitters slung his bag over his shoulder and went to investigate. He stopped dead in his tracks when he came across the little ball in the corner, arms wrapped tightly around his knees as he cried. And god, his heart clenched in a way he didn't quite understand.

"...Palomo?" He asked, almost hesitantly.

Palomo jerked, hastily wiping his eyes and sniffing. He put another forced smile on, face blotchy from tears and eyes swollen. He shook his head, hands trembling as he reached towards the bench to pull himself up. It made Bitters ache somewhere deep in his chest.

"H-hey." The smaller boy greeted.

Bitters didn't answer. He instead set his backpack down on the bench. Before he could change his mind, he stepped closer and tugged Palomo into his chest. His arms wrapped around him as if it were natural, and it only made him ache more when he realized Palomo almost immediately fell apart against him. He breathed out slowly, then pressed a barely there kiss to his hair.

"You're okay."


	37. Understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker doesnt understand, but he sure as hell tries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Understand  
> Pairing: Tuckington  
> Rating: T  
> Warnings: I have never written anything with an asexual character before. I know little about asexuality. Please, I beg of you, if you know I've written something offensive, incorrect or misguided, let me know so I can fix it. I'm sorry in advance if I've written something wrong, I myself am not asexual and thus have no real guide for what is okay.

Its not that wash was really _repulsed_ by sex. He wasn't. Hell, if you could catch him in the right mood, sometimes he actually enjoyed it. He just....didn't get that harsh desire. He didn't see the overwhelming appeal everyone else did, he didn't understand that supposed, addictive heat that people insisted came with it. It was typically robotic and numb for him, overall unpleasant. And he still spent hours trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him. Especially since Tucker.

Tucker was beautiful. Amazing to look at, and good fucking god did Wash love him. Wash loved the way those hands felt tangled in his hair and how those lips felt pressed to his skin. He loved the hickies, the marks Tucker was intent on leaving. He _wanted_ to want to have sex with Tucker. And it wasn't tucker who was the problem, not at all. It was the sex. The thought just....overall, it didn't click in Washington's brain the way it did with Tucker.

And Tucker always stopped when Wash asked him to. He apologized, pressed sweet, innocent kisses to Wash's knuckles as apologies and that just made the freelancer fall even more in love. Tucker told him he was willing to wait, and Wash was _afraid_ for the first time in he didn't even know how long. What would Tucker do when he finally discovered that Wash was broken? There _had_ to be something wrong for him to not be interested in sex, there just had to be.

But when Tucker did find out, he settled down beside Washington and laced their fingers together, asking for his partner to explain. Wash did the best he could, confused and unsure of himself like Tucker had never seen. It went quiet a long moment, Tucker nodding slowly as his eyes unfocused, thoughts reeling through his head. Finally, his eyes refocused their attention on Washington and Tucker smiled.

"But you definitely like kissing? Like, touching in general is okay? I can still kiss and tug your hair and stuff?" He asked. Washington offered a tiny smile and a nod. "So....so, what if......could you maybe talk to me while I get off sometimes? Is that okay? Or maybe just be in the room with me?" He continued, and Washington wanted to cry.

Tucker accepted it so easily...how? He just...asked how to compromise so they were both happy. Wash leaned in quickly to capture Tucker's lips in a kiss before he could keep talking, relaxing into the man easily.

"We can do that. I....we don't have to never have sex. If I'm in the right mood, I can enjoy it. I'll....when I get into that mood, I'll let you know, okay?" He said as he pulled away from the kiss, resting his forehead against Tucker's. The smaller man nodded.

"Don't lie about it to make me happy, okay? Like....dude, if we have sex, I want you to _not_ be miserable so don't lie. I'm okay with the jacking off while you talk. Your voice is sexy as hell." Tucker answered, dipping his head to kiss lovingly at Wash's neck.

"Right now might be a night where sex is enjoyable" Washington murmured, eyes slipping shut as those wonderful lips touched his skin. Tucker paused.

"Are you sure? Absolutely positive?" He asked, and wash nodded. "You can change your mind whenever you want, okay? I only want to do it if you're a million percent sure." He continued.

And maybe it was because it was Tucker that he felt that he could enjoy it. Maybe it was knowing that this would make the man he loved happy. Perhaps it was knowing that Tucker would never push or force that made him so open to the idea. If Tucker was willing to compromise over this, then Washington figured he should be, too.

But whatever the reason, Wash was determined to make sure Tucker enjoyed it, and while the act really didn't spark a fire within wash, that sleepy and contented bliss that took over Tucker's face when he finished certainly set him ablaze.


	38. Dogtags

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker didn't think anything of those dog tags. That is, until he looked at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Dogtags  
> Pairing: Past Maine/Wash, tuckington  
> Rating: T  
> Warnings: none I don't think.

Of course, Tucker saw the dog tags. They were impossible to miss, a silver chain constantly hanging around Washington's neck. Tucker saw him out of armor often enough, so he saw that chain always resting against the freckled skin. As if it, too, were a part of Wash's body. And it's not like it was unusual. Tucker had his own dog tags, so did all the other's. So Wash having his never really processed in Tucker's mind as anything other than typical.

Until he finally looked at them.

He and Wash had begun a tentative relationship. Soft kisses here and there, gentle touches and shy smiles. A slow build that was so unlike anything Tucker was used to but intoxicating all the same. They melded together so easily, their touches sparking and their kisses making Tucker melt. He wanted everything all at once and yet was high off of the slow build they had managed.

And one day, Tucker grabbed at those dog tags to tug Wash into a kiss. He hadn't thought about it, but Washington tensed and gripped his wrist. Tucker blinked in surprise, letting the metal tags fall from his grip. As they bounced against Wash's chest, Tucker caught a glimpse of the name, for the first time.

Matthew.

Tucker swallowed thickly, meeting Wash's gaze. The man's brown eyes looked panicked, a deep fear laced with a harsh sorrow buried deep in those eyes. Tucker licked his lips, then slowly reached for the dog tags again. Wash let him this time, breathing in long, controlled breaths. Tucker's fingers touched the metal, warm from being pressed against Wash's skin, and finally broke eye contact to look at it.

**Matthew Donte Codename: Agent Maine**

Tucker felt a heaviness in his chest. An odd mix of fear, sadness and confusion. He carefully rested the tags back against Wash's chest as he looked up again, but the taller man had closed his eyes. Tucker didn't speak, instead resting his hands carefully on Wash's shoulders as he waited. He hated being quiet, hated biting his tongue, but he knew Wash needed him to. Now was not the time for his mouth to get away from him.

"I loved him." Wash choked out quietly, voice breaking. And god, did Tucker understand that feeling.

Understand the emptiness that came with losing someone, the guilt that bubbled in his stomach when he woke from dreams of past lovers while in bed with someone new. Tucker wrapped his arms around Washington's waist and pressed his face into the man's neck. He felt strong arms clasp too tightly around him and he could feel Wash crying against him. He hated it. Hated knowing he couldn't fix the hurt. And he hated that a part of him wanted Wash to get over Maine. To just move on because he had Tucker, now.

"I'm not gonna' ask you to take them off." Tucker finally murmured, kissing under his jaw lovingly. Wash let out a quiet sob, so low that Tucker almost didn't hear it,

"Thank you."


	39. Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end, Felix always knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Lie  
> Pairing: Lolix  
> Rating: T  
> Warnings: Character death and mild suicidal references.
> 
> I'm thinking of rewriting this from Felix's POV.

Felix had known. In the end, Felix had always known.

And that was something Locus hated. Hated how Felix was the one person in the entire universe who just knew. How Felix could read him like an open book like no one before him could. He hated how in the end, he was still a human being and Felix fucking knew it. Hated how he longed to touch, to feel, to love like he didn't deserve, and Felix had been able to dig down and find it out without Locus ever realizing until it was far too late.

And he hated how Felix didnt mention it. How locus knew damn well that Felix was aware of those stupid, pointless feelings. And Felix knew he knew. But he never said a fucking thing. He kept all comments to himself, ignored those moments, few and far between, where Locus slipped up and allowed the emotion to overcome him. Or perhaps it was Felix's lack of reaction that caused Locus to slip up, as if somewhere deep down he was hoping Felix would finally say something.

And maybe that's what lead them to this point. Maybe that small, human need for acceptance was what brought them here.

He hadnt even thought about it. He'd just thrown himself in front of the bullet, used his own body to shield Felix. And why should he not have? He didn't fear death, not like Felix did. If anything, death seemed peaceful. An inevitability, part of life. He sometimes even yearned for it.

Felix caught him as he fell, probably more to keep from being crushed than anything else. Locus wasnt sure, but it felt like Felix moved them specifically so his head was resting in the smaller mercenary's lap. He was bleeding out, he knew it. Minutes, at most, before he fell into that welcoming void. Part of him suddenly questions who he had really done this for, Felix or himself. His helmet was torn off, and as it clanged against the ground Locus found himself staring up at Felix's own bare face, those brown eye wide with shock. Locus felt his slowing heart flutter, and he wasn't sure if it was from the blood so quickly leaving him or the realization that he had finally affected the other mercenary.

"You're fucking stupid." Felix demanded, and Locus allowed his hazy brain to recognize it as fond.

Felix let a sigh, eyes flicking to the wound on Locus' chest before meeting his eyes again.

Locus' breathing was growing more labored, color draining from his face. His eyes were dulling quickly, his vision closing in so all he could focus on was Felix. His hand reached up weakly, fingers just brushing Felix's jaw before he couldn't hold it up any longer. Felix looked mildly shocked, and Locus would have taken pride in the fact if he could focus.

"I love you." Felix breathed out quietly, after letting the silence linger too long. Locus felt a smile touch his lips, a small sad smile that wouldn't have reached his eyes even if he hadnt closed them.

"No you don't." He choked out, having to gasp for his breath. "But I love you."

And even if Locus knew Felix was lying to him - humoring him for whatever reason that Locus would now never know - hearing him say it left Locus at peace.


	40. Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He would rather he had lived a coward than die a hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hero  
> Pairing: Grimmons  
> Rating: T  
> Warnings: Character death
> 
> I know it's been forever and I'm really sorry. School started to get sort of intense, and I fell into a really bad writers block. And then I started focusing on what I was writing for NaNoWriMo. I'm really, really sorry, and I hope to get a little more consistent updates again.

The last thing Simmons remembered was a large explosion. The heat from the fire and the shouts surrounding him. The force pushing him back, his head snapping back against a wall. Then nothing.

He wasn’t quite awake, eyes too heavy to open and his body too numb to hurt. There was a faint buzz in his ears, and he could almost hear people talking around him. Muffled, like he had cotton in his ears. He knew those voices, didn’t he? They were so familiar, grabbing at him and pulling him from that strange limbo between sleep and consciousness.

Simmons forced his eyes open, almost immediately closing them again when the light of the room hit him. His vision was blurry, so unfocused. He could see pink and red, a few scattered shades of blue. Was something missing? Something must have been missing.

“He opened his eyes! Simmons, are you okay?” A voice exclaimed, too loud but still not quite clear. Dammit, he knew that voice!

Those smudges of color moved around him, moving closer into a circle. All at once, memory hit Simmons’ hazy mind and his vision cleared. He jerked into a sitting position, not caring enough about the harsh pain all over his body. Donut jerked closer to him, reaching to try and help him sit, but Simmons shoved him away.

“Where is he?” He demanded, voice raspy and cracking half way through the question. No one looked at him, a tense silence falling over them and Simmons felt his throat close up.

“Where is Grif? Where’s Dex?” He repeated, already feeling the tears prickling at his eyes. Donut wiped his own eyes, looking only briefly at the maroon soldier.

“He….he saved you.” He answered. “You were closest to that bomb, he threw himself at it.”

Simmons already knew the answer. He didn’t want to believe it, but he fucking _knew_ it. Those tears that had built up in his eyes welled over and he didn’t bother to wipe them away. Instead, he laid down and curled onto his side, the pain numb once again. Simmons pressed his face into the pillow, tensing when a warm hand landed on his shoulder.

“He died a hero.” Washington said softly, gently.  “He died protecting what he loved.”

It didn’t help. It might help, later, when the initial, sharp pain finally ebbed away into a dull ache. When Simmons no longer woke up expecting Dex to be there beside him and when he could say the man’s name without his throat closing off. But right now, with that wound having only just been made, it only made Simmons sob harshly into the pillow.  

Right now? Simmons would rather Grif had lived a coward than died a hero.

He could hear the others shuffle out of the room, most likely herded out by Donut. That warm hand left his shoulder, and when he heard the door shut behind them all, he allowed himself to break down completely.


	41. Shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Church absolutely could not be blamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Shirt  
> Pairing: Church/Tucker/Washington  
> Rating: M  
> Warnings: Nothing explicit but it is sexual
> 
> Also, you will never change my mind that Tucker is Spanish. Never ever. Fight me.

Church could not at all be blamed for his actions.

He just couldn’t. There was no feasible way for anyone to look at the situation and blame him. He had absolutely no choice in the matter, in was absolutely impossible for the situation to have played out any differently.

He’d just been sitting there at the tiny excuse of a desk in the room, the bed behind him and the door to a little bathroom a few feet away. And then Tucker came out of the bathroom wearing that shirt. A little too big for him, hanging unevenly on his shoulders and the light gray contrasting amazingly with his dark skin.

Washington’s shirt.

Fuck, Church could just _hear_ the possessive growl their lover would give at seeing it, and he was standing before he realized he was moving. Tucker ended up shoved back up against the wall, Church’s face buried in his neck to kiss and bite at the skin. And fucking hell, the shirt still smelled like Wash, still held that almost metallic tinge mixed with the man’s aftershave, and Church moaned out loud.

“Bueno, hola a ti también.” Tucker murmured, already breathless, and Church felt a tingle run down his spine.

Tucker was still asleep enough to not know if he was speaking English or Spanish. Why was that so hot? Why was it so fucking fantastic to know Tucker had just woken up, was still mussed from sleep and had likely slept peacefully in one of his lovers’ shirts? Church groaned again, pressing his thigh between Tucker’s legs.

“Fuck, Tucker, you look good in Wash’s shirt.” Church grumbled into the skin, nipping lovingly before moving to the other side.

“Calm down, mi cielo.” Tucker moaned, hands clutching at the back of Church’s shirt. “I just woke up.”

“Don’t care.” Church replied, nearly picking Tucker up so he could turn them and toss the smaller man onto the bed. Tucker snorted a laugh, raising a brow at Church.

Church crawled over Tucker, bending to lock their lips together. Tucker’s lips were chapped but warm and Church loved it. Loved how he tasted, how he moved his lips sleepily into the kiss. He loved how one of Tucker’s hands went up into his hair and how he could smell Wash on his skin despite the man having been gone on a mission for three days.

“Te amo.” Tucker breathed out, and Church absolutely lost it.

So, no. Church could not be blamed. He could not be blamed for missing breakfast, or the first hour and a half of practice with the rebels. He couldn’t be blamed for holding Tucker close to his chest or kissing across his shoulders.

And he definitely couldn’t be blamed for making sure Tucker didn’t take the shirt off while they fucked.


End file.
